


Burn Out, Fade Away

by romanticalgirl



Category: Bandom, Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Album), My Chemical Romance
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-14
Updated: 2010-12-14
Packaged: 2017-10-23 10:47:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/249451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanticalgirl/pseuds/romanticalgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Go out in a blaze of glory</p>
            </blockquote>





	Burn Out, Fade Away

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [](http://inlovewithnight.livejournal.com/profile)[**inlovewithnight**](http://inlovewithnight.livejournal.com/) for the beta. A very happy (late) birthday to [](http://ladyfoxxx.livejournal.com/profile)[**ladyfoxxx**](http://ladyfoxxx.livejournal.com/) who wanted Ray and porn.

  
Nobody has names in Battery City. That’s the first rule they make, because names have power. Names lead to people you love and people in hiding and people who used to exist before the drugs and the subliminal messages and happy smiling faces got to them. In the zones, in private, they have names. But not here.

Never here.

There are three entrances to the BLInd compound - the service entrance, the gated entrance and the public entrance. They’ve stormed them all and come up short every time. They always achieve their objective whether by luck or design, but they never make it out alive. It makes it easier not to have names, when you’re not sure who you really are anymore, or if you’re even real.

The plan is simple. Go in, disrupt the broadcast, blow the equipment and get out. Instead of the smash-and-grab or smash-and-burn, they’re trying something different right from the start. This one isn’t about making a statement. This one isn’t about making the biggest noise. Whatever happened after getting the girl out changed things, and this time, he’s fairly sure they’re playing for keeps.

They go in through the sewers, which just serves as a sharp reminder that no matter how clean the surface is, there’s always filth underneath. They stick to the older tunnels, the ones that aren’t used anymore, too ancient to handle the current volume. They pass dead bodies and skeletons, piles of bones and dust, as they make their way, hitting the wall right where the blueprints Paparazzi got them said it would be. Party Poison nods to the rest of them, indicating the directions they’re supposed to go. They all nod, because this is what they do now, muscle memory and what’s left of their past making it easy to know how it goes.

They’re fighting for the right things – the girl is real and uncopied, unprogrammed, innocent and worth saving. But that doesn’t mean that the next time couldn’t be the last and whatever set of lives they have might not be used up. Normally they go in together, guns blazing. This time they each go in alone and hope like hell they make it out alive.

He hugs them all close, brothers and blood and something more than that after everything they’ve been through. It feels like goodbye about as much as it feels like a promise that it isn’t, and he ducks into the passageway that leads him where he needs to go.

**

He avoids the business complex part of it, the white guards and the smiling faces. He can tell by the droning silence that no one knows they’re here, but that doesn’t make him relax. He just keeps moving, winding through corridors until he reaches the smoked glass of the executive suites. BLInd is a business, but it’s also a lifestyle, so he passes empty desk after empty desk until, right where the plans promised, he finds the touchpad, the reinforced door and the hum of too much power.

Kobra came up with the hack, so he does as instructed and presses the small metal disk to the keypad, careful not to touch any of the buttons. The disk comes away hot and the machine in his hand starts ticking over numbers until heat and pressure all add up to a code. This is when it’s critical that they’re right, because they won’t get a second chance. He punches the code and the door hisses open to magenta walls and laquered black wood and her.

He’s surprised her, which was the one part of the plan that was necessary which means it was the one part they couldn’t control. She’s walking from one room to the other in nothing but a floor-length silk robe and she stops, turning her head as the door opens and staring at him for a timeless second before she reaches to rip one of her katana off the wall. Blaster versus katana is like blaster versus lightsaber, but he’s moving before she is and he catches her before she can get to it, slamming her hard against the wall behind her.

She’s hard muscle and soft skin, and he has to focus to keep from getting distracted by it. Her robe falls open and all he can think of is his dirty, rough clothes against silken skin. It’s enough of a distraction that she gets space between them and jabs a knee into his thigh. She’s close enough to his groin that he flinches, and she lunges for a sword.

He grabs one off the wall as well, unsheathing it just in time to counter her first swing. She can’t get too much force behind it, the room too confined for a wide swing, but the impact still sends a sharp jolt up his arms and into his shoulders.

He hisses then counters, metal singing against metal, sparks bright against the dark walls. She advances then he does, a slow tango, buying time. He keeps her moving, his arms aching from keeping the sword engaged. Her robe clings to the flesh it actually covers, the expanse of her chest, stomach and thighs damp with perspiration that glints on her skin.

They don’t speak, no noise except for the soft grunts of exertion and the clash of metal. His arms burn and shake long before hers do, and he’s more grateful than he wants to admit when the alarm finally sounds.

She curses in Japanese and lets her guard down just long enough for his blade to catch her, slicing cleanly across her thigh, leaving a minute pink line that slowly begins to well with blood. Her eyes widen as she drops her gaze to the blood. She launches herself at him, her cool completely gone.

He knocks the sword aside with one last effort. She shrieks with rage, letting her charge carry her into him, sending them both to the floor, their swords scattering across the tile. He hits the ground hard, her on top of him. Her fingers aim for his throat and he catches her wrists before she can close her hands around his neck. They lay there for a moment at an impasse, the flat droning voice of the alarm filling the air around them. He tries to calculate where the others are, how far they are. None of them are strangers to sacrifice, but none of them want it to be in vain.

She says something else in Japanese, her voice sharp and angry. He keeps breathingt, every inhale another step, every exhale another second for the others. It takes a moment to realize she’s switched to English, that he knows what she’s saying.

“Ray.”

He shudders hard, tightening his grip on her wrists. She shakes her head, shifting above him deliberately. His gaze darts down to her breasts, hanging free, nipples hard. Her thigh presses against his, and he can feel the wet stain of her blood.

She closes the distance between them, covering his mouth with her own. It’s a shock to his system, almost as much as his name. He can’t remember the last time he did this, can’t remember seeing a woman as anything other than ally or enemy.

She whispers his name into his mouth and he rolls them over, pinning her arms over her head. Her hair is fanned out around her head like liquid black and he eases between her legs as she parts them. She wraps one of her legs around the back of his and arches up against him. He’s fully clothed and releasing her hands seems like an invitation to disaster, but he can feel his cock getting harder, can smell sex and sweat and want. He lets go of one of her wrists and she tangles her fingers in his hair, jerking him down to kiss her. She bites and sucks and fucks his mouth with her tongue, grinding upward

Ray can hear the rasp of dusty denim against her skin, feel the grit dig into her. He pulls back, as far as she’ll let him, and undoes his jeans, shoving them down to his knees. Her leg is still pressed firmly to the back of his, and he can’t push them down further without dislodging her. It’s enough though, when he leans back in and she spreads her legs wider and he thrusts into her.

She fucks like she fights, aggressive and controlled and dominating, and Ray catches her wrists again, holding her down as he snaps his hips against hers. The drone and sirens give way to critical errors, the lights and ambient sounds fluctuating and flickering around them. Ray doesn’t know where his fellow Killjoys are, but he knows they’ve succeeded. Never mind whatever BL/Ind planned on airing, right now the digital and analog word are filled with the sounds of Dr. Death Defying, calling out for a better world, another world.

Hearing her rough, desperate keen as she gets close is like hearing the voices in Battery City rise up, sing out, and Ray buries himself deep, letting his orgasm overtake him. When he pulls back, there’s fire in her eyes again and in the distance he can hear the sound of another alarm, one that means there’s been an escape.

She gets to her feet and wraps her robe tight around her. The swords are too far away for her to get to them before he could get to her, and the fact that she knows it is clear on her face. “You’re a dead man,” she hisses.

Ray adjusts his clothes and pulls out his laser. It’s set strong enough to make sure she won’t call for reinforcements and he blasts her just as she tries for the last sword on the wall. She goes down in an unceremonious heap and Ray steps over her, pulling up the map in his head. “You’ll have to catch me first.”  



End file.
